Isolated Islands in Medieval Nature, Culture and Mind

Monastic “Islands” in Medieval Denmark: Insular Isolation in Ideal and Practice

MONASTIC “ISLANDS” IN MEDIEVAL DENMARK: INSULAR ISOLATION IN IDEAL AND PRACTICE Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen Every now and then, when I am asked to describe the medieval monastery, there are several ways to do so. One of them is to make use of the topic of these conference proceedings: Islands! Islands isolated in more than one sense. For medieval religiosi – the monks, canons regular, friars and nuns – the monastery (or the abbey, priory or nunnery) constituted a sort of haven, an enclosed area within this world which rightfully belonged to another world. For my students or when addressing an audience at an open lecture, I usually make a comparison with present-day embassies, physically located in one country but symbolically and jurisdictionally belonging to another. In the same way, medieval monasteries can be seen as embassies of Paradise within the temporal world. When you passed the gate and entered the enclosed area behind the walls, you were – at least ideologically – no longer in the local county, but in some sort of forecourt of Paradise . Here the rules of your local village, count or king were second to the rules of God, represented by the constitutions of the religious order in question.. But perhaps more importantly, the monastery was a refuge from the Devil and all his doing in the temporal world, at least ideologically, since powerful mobs and magnates at all times have dared to ignore the godly primacy and jurisdictional sanctuary of monasteries. At other times, at least as often portrayed in anti-monastic traditions, the inhabitants of the monastery themselves, misled by evil thoughts and longings, invited all the sins and dangers of the outside world into their sacred house. Often this is also described in monastic sources of the Middle Ages, where a reformist fraction of the order takes it upon itself to clean up the ungodly mess allowed by former generations . For instance, when Bishop Absalon put the French Augustinian, William of Æbelholt, in charge of the small convent of canons regular on the islet of Eskilsø outside Roskilde in 1165, he found a most unholy monastery, lost to the Devil for years. The canons: “…dozed in disgraceful idleness, they ate and drank to abundance in a royal way in arrogance and wrong living.” Just in this sentence alone, the chronicler can list no less than three mortal sins, which were, of course, imposed on the canons by the Devil himself. When William began to reform the convent and bring them back to the MONASTIC “ISLANDS” IN MEDIEVAL DENMARK 37 right course, the Devil became so angry that he made the canons try to murder the reformist abbot on several occasions, for instance, by lighting a fire next to William’s bed at night. All of this was in vain, however, and William forgave his brethren because he knew they were not acting for themselves, but on behalf of the Devil.1 On other occasions, it took a whole new order to reform the fallen monasteries of an older order. This was allegedly the case for several of the Cistercian abbeys in Denmark, which, according to Cistercian chronicles, were often based on fallen Benedictine convents in severe need of reform.2 Just like a military fortress of the temporal world, the religious fortress of the monastery was no stronger than the garrison that protected it. If the guard was weak and lazy the forces of Evil could easily climb the wall, sneak through the gates, and so take command of the entire monastery. But if the garrison was well trained, disciplined and alert, the Devil and his army could not enter this forecourt of Paradise. Indeed, such use of militaristic language and metaphors are not just my invention when describing medieval monastic life; contemporary chronicles and letters are full of them. For instance, numerous militaristic metaphors can be found in the preserved letters of Abbot William, mentioned above.3 The idea of the cloister wall and gate being the checkpoint between our two worlds is shown among other places in a letter from the late 12th century, where William describes how he can actually see the devils sitting on the wall above the monastery gate, just waiting for a chance to sneak in. In less dramatic phrases, a large part of The Rule of St. Benedict deals with the same problem, of how to prevent the dangers and the disturbances of the temporal world from entering the monastery and disturbing the sacred peace, and why...